


Band of Brothers

by Enfilade



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Origin Story, POV First Person, Transgender Lyzack, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-09
Updated: 2017-03-09
Packaged: 2018-10-01 08:49:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10185494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enfilade/pseuds/Enfilade
Summary: Leozack tells the story of his fateful first meeting with Deathsaurus.  And his fateful second meeting.  (Origin story for Deathsaurus, Leozack and Lyzack in my canon.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> On Transgender Lyzack: In my personal canon, Lyzack and brother Leozack were created on Cybertron as Decepticon MTOs. Canonically this is at a time in Cybertronian history when the whole concept of “female” had been wiped out of current general knowledge. As a result, not only is Lyzack designated male, she (and Leozack) don’t have any language to express how they’re different, other than that Leozack is comfortable in the identity he’s been given and Lyzack isn’t. 
> 
> Leozack refers to Lyzack with male pronouns in this story and calls her his “brother” because at this time neither of them are aware that it is possible to be anything other than “male.”
> 
> When Lyzack leaves Cybertron on the Warworld, she encounters other female Transformers and realizes that she is female. At this point she begins using female pronouns for herself. This story is set before that time.
> 
> Story narrated by Leozack.

In the beginning there were two of us, my brother and I, and in all the centuries since I have found no words to mean “either of us, apart”. We followed one another as dawn follows dusk. We enhanced one another: sword and shield, cunning and wisdom, brain and t-cog. Together we kept each other alive. 

We had to. Nobody else would do it for us.

And now, after a desperate bid for survival, my brother and I huddled under the commander’s desk in an abandoned Decepticon command post near the front lines and waited for Shockwave’s agents to find us. Neither of us could voice our greatest fear, but I could see it in my brother’s optics, just as I was sure he could see it in mine. We could face anything together…but what if Shockwave separated us? 

There were others in our batch, but my brother and I were what they called a _split spark_. Somewhere in the course of our batch’s construction, one spark divided and became two. I came online with my brother’s presence in the back of my mind, in the sensors of my frame and the flickers in my soul. He felt my presence in the same way. It was how I knew from the start that my brother was fundamentally _different_ from me in a way that neither of us had language to express. It took longer for me to understand that everyone did not have a sibling’s echo in their spark. It seemed, to us, impossibly lonely to live that way.

We were created in a facility dedicated to producing troops for the Decepticon army. The factory overseers didn’t mind that my brother and I were two sparks instead of one. There were plenty of empty bodies. An extra spark was a bonus, not a problem. It wasn’t until later that our status as twins became a threat to our survival. But we had plenty of other threats to occupy us in the meantime.

Our training period was brief. We were given guns, taught how to use them. We learned basic aerial maneuvers and simple battlefield formations. Then we were assigned to the 812th Assault Division and thrown into war. Our batchmates fell before the onslaught of the Autobot forces and we knew fear for the first time. 

But unlike our batchmates, our fear was not for ourselves; it was for one another. Already, that soon, neither of us could conceive of a life of solitude. We knew before we were told that one of us would not long survive the other.

Together we kept ourselves alive. We were both intelligent, but I was the cunning one while my brother was the gifted one. My brother was the one who learned to hack computers and jury-rig weapons and effect battlefield repairs by watching others and imitating. I was the one whose instincts intuited impending danger, safe routes, when to move and when to hide. 

It was my instincts which led us across the battlefield to the Dragon of Destruction.

We’d been woken up in the middle of recharge by a siren indicating we were under attack. My unit fanned out into the darkness, searching for the enemy. As always, my brother and I were never far from one another. It so happened that we were the ones to find the enemy …but someone else had found the enemy first.

The night was thick, pierced by brief flashes of laser fire and the uncertain light of flares overhead. Through the gloom I saw a single Decepticon surrounded on all sides by an absolute mob of Autobot soldiers. The Autobots didn’t dare shoot for fear of hitting their own. They were attacking with clubs and blades and spears—anything they could use to smash or slash or throw. Their target was kicking and thrashing and doing a damned good job of it. We watched as we approached and we witnessed one Autobot thrown clear, another stumbling back with his throat torn out, and two more swept off their feet by a sweeping kick. Still, there were far too many Autobots for even the strongest Decepticon to hold them off for long.

I wondered, back then, if my brother’s struggles to accept himself had made him more sympathetic to others. He tugged on my arm, pointed to the beleaguered Decepticon, and raised his rifle to fire. I almost grabbed the barrel to stop him; one shot would draw the Autobots’ attention to us.

First I looked left. Then I looked right. Where in the Pit were the others who were supposed to be on our flanks? My brother and I were alone.

I’m no philanthropist, never was, but I knew that if those Autobots killed their target, my brother and I would be next. We had no choice. We needed that other Decepticon on our side.

I lifted my weapon and together my brother and I opened fire.

We landed a few good hits before the Autobots figured out they were being attacked from the rear and started firing back. That ended up being a mistake. The Con they were brawling with was not the kind of person one ought to turn one’s back on.

He did not bother shooting them in the back. He leapt on them instead, rending them to pieces with claws and teeth. I remember seeing a disembodied head rolling past me in the dark. 

And as the last Autobots fled, shrieking in terror, I looked up and felt my spark freeze as I recognized the mechanism we had saved. A few paces away, my brother shivered, sensing my residual emotion. 

Everyone knew the Dragon of Destruction. Rumours abounded among the MTOs, rumours I’d only partially believed. I’d never thought I’d actually _encounter_ him.

It was said that he belonged to the unit stationed next to ours, the 895th, and the members of the 895th helpfully told everyone they met to stay away from him if they valued their lives. He was a vicious monoformer just as likely, the stories said, to devour fellow Decepticons as Autobots, and the trenches of no mech’s land were his hunting grounds. I had thought him a boogie mech invented by our commanders to keep us from wandering outside the barracks by ourselves.

The scary stories the MTOs whispered around fires in the long cold nights had not done him justice. I had met a number of Decepticon MTOs with creature alt modes and none of them were anywhere near as terrifying as the beast before me. They were…they were all _pretending_ to be predators. They were robots in disguise.

This was no disguise.

The Dragon of Destruction was all predator and it showed. His every movement reflected deliberate power and savage mastery. Four taloned feet, a long, lashing tail, massive wings tipped with claws, a beak filled with teeth at the end of a serpentine neck. Innermost energon dripped from his chin and puddled in the dust.

I stepped closer to my brother, wondering if the beast would attack us next. They said he killed Decepticons too.

_Don’t show your fear._ I raised my fists, indicating my willingness to fight, but I held my fire.

The creature watched us intently, examining us, and I had the sudden impression of a great intelligence behind those savage optics.

I admit it; I cringed. But the monster spread his mighty wings and leapt into the sky, where he disappeared into the howling dark.

I stood still on the battlefield, staring up into the heavens until my brother came to drag me away, before the Autobots returned.

Why did I think of this now, when my brother and I could do nothing but huddle together under a desk and pray that Shockwave’s agents could not hear the thrum of our engines or the whisper of breath in our intake vents? Why did this recollection drive away my horrific imaginings of what experiments Shockwave might choose to run on a pair of split-spark twins?

The mind thinks strange things under stress. I’d been expecting Shockwave’s agents to come in the _front door_ of the command post. I’d not been expecting the door at the back of the room to abruptly burst open, or for a tall blue mechanism with long wings to come striding out.

I saw long blue wings tipped with claws, and my mind flashed back to our battlefield encounter with the Dragon of Destruction.

This strange newcomer was also a savage-looking mechanism. He was clearly a beastformer, and unlike many of the others I’d met, he hadn’t bothered to camouflage or minimize his alt. His helm was in a stylized animal-head design, as though he were proud rather than ashamed of his nature. He wore a curved scimitar at his side.

He looked at me, and my fuel ran cold, because when his optics met mine, the eyes on his helm flickered with ruby light.

_Not one set of optics._

_Two._

He regarded my brother and me with a feral intelligence shining in all four optics and then I heard the expected slam of the front door opening.

The savage stranger lifted his head from us and strode towards the desk, stopping a mere pace away from us, slamming his hands down on the desktop and flaring his huge wings, hiding us in a little world of our own underneath the desk. “State your business in my command post,” he said to whoever stood in the doorway. His voice was raspy, as though his voxcoder was unaccustomed to regular use.

“My name is Windsweeper and I’ve been sent here by Shockwave to retrieve these two individuals.” I heard a soft whine, like the screen of a datapad powering up. Then Windsweeper said our names. I shivered, holding tightly to my brother’s hand, and wondered if it would be better for us to stand up and face our fate like Decepticons. Maybe it would be worse for us if we made Windsweeper tear the place apart looking for us. I dithered, distracting myself from the truth: that our fate would likely be the same either way. “Is this the 895th?”

“It is.”

“Have you seen these two?” Windsweeper asked.

I felt my breath stop in my intakes.

“There’s no one like that around here,” the stranger said dismissively.

“Are you sure?” Windsweeper said skeptically. “The twins…?”

“ _Oh_ ,” the stranger replied, “you mean the _griffins_. They’re out on perimeter patrol right now, but I can call them back if you…”

“ _No_ ,” Windsweeper growled. I could almost hear the words _you stupid animal_ in his voice. “Those two aren’t branched sparks. I mean _these two_.”

I heard the slam. I imagined Windsweeper almost cracking his datapad on the desktop, our faces looking up from the screen, and Windsweeper leaning forward, demanding a response.

“I’m _sorry_ ,” the stranger said, and I swore I could see his fanged grin just from the tone in his voice. “There’s _definitely_ nobody like that around here _._ ”

I heard Windsweeper mutter under his breath. “Bloody stupid MTOs.” Then he raised his voice with all the arrogance of a forged officer. “You’ll let me know if you see them,” he said, and it wasn’t a request.

“Of course,” the stranger replied mildly. Obediently. Like a good little pet. 

“Fine,” Windsweeper said. I heard his footsteps cross the floor, then the slamming of the door behind him.

Abruptly the stranger’s wings furled away and I could see out from under the desk again. 

He’d saved us, to what ends I did not know. As MTOs my brother and I understood that any kindness done to us was done to suit someone’s agenda. Shockwave wanted test subjects. What did this stranger want from us? 

The stranger took a step back and fell to his knees. To my surprise, he grimaced in pain, clutching his side. 

I’m not the sort to get involved with others’ problems, but even I have a rudimentary sense of gratitude. “Are you all right?” I asked hesitantly, realizing even as I said it that there wasn’t a damn thing I could do if he said _no_. I had no medical training and as a mech on the run I wasn’t in any position to help anyone.

He looked at me, a peculiar expression on his face, and then he changed shape…into a form I recognized. It had not been coincidence that his wings had made me think of the Dragon of Destruction.

The Dragon crouched on all fours before us, panting heavily, and then he drew up his head and said in that same raspy voice, “I can never maintain that form for long.”

My brother crept out from under the desk. I wanted to warn him not to get too close to the Dragon, but he reached out his hand and rested it on the Dragon’s beak. The Dragon froze. I held my breath, and for a long time we all stared at one another.

“Thank you,” my brother said at last, “for saving us.”

He withdrew his hand and the spell was broken. The Dragon lifted his head and said, “I’ve bought you time, nothing more. You two need to get out of here. Run away somewhere and hide.” 

I blinked, shocked speechless. Where would we go? What would we do? My brother and I had never been off the front lines. I didn’t even know how to get to Helex, which rumour said was the closest city, let alone how to fit in when we got there, or where to find fuel, or…

My brother spoke first. “Who are the griffins? Aren’t you worried about Windsweeper going after them too?”

The Dragon’s optics flickered. “Leozack and Lyzack. And no. They didn’t survive this morning’s perimeter patrol.” 

An idea crossed my mind. “If they’re not coming back, why don’t my brother and I just take their identities? Windsweeper—and Shockwave—want branched sparks. They’re not.”

The Dragon snorted. “That will work right up until someone checks the computer records and notices that your names and batch numbers don’t line up.” Dumb animal? Definitely not.

But we might have a solution to that problem. I looked at my brother. He’d been watching and learning from the moment he came online, and even now he was activating the computer built into the desk behind us. I suspected someone at the factory had logged in to his account in front of the merchandise, and my brother had remembered the passwords.

“Which one do you want to be?” my brother asked with a smile. “Leozack, or Lyzack?”

I had a name on the tip of my vocalizer when I hesitated.

“I think you should choose,” I said, because my brother had suffered far more than I in this regard. I _liked_ the role I’d been assigned in life; my brother, not so much. 

He looked at me, then the Dragon, and said shyly, “I want to be Lyzack. I like the sound of that.”

“Leozack is fine with me,” I said, and I supposed that before long, it would be. “Now we have their names, their jobs, and their fuel rations, and we’re not going to end up siphoning in the streets of Helex before being shot as deserters…or dragged back to Shockwave.”

“You’re still cannon fodder on the front lines,” the Dragon said dryly.

“For now,” I retorted. I looked him up and down and began to feel a little hope that my brother and I might stay alive long enough to make something of ourselves. Except that my spark still felt uneasy.

“Why did you do it?” I asked.

The Dragon cocked his head.

My brother—Lyzack—picked up my train of thought. “Why did you save us?”

Our monstrous benefactor stared at me, then my brother, as though we were both stupid. “Because _you_ saved _me_.” From his tone, the answer was obvious. He watched my brother typing for a moment, then swung his fearsome attention to me. “I should be the one asking _you_ that question.”

I didn’t think _by accident_ would get me very far, and _because we couldn’t take on all those Autobots alone_ seemed terribly self-serving, so I shrugged and said, “Because no one else is going to look out for us out here. It makes me think we ought to look out for one another.”

He was silent, considering that for a moment, and while he thought, Lyzack spoke. “I can’t find you in the personnel directory.”

The Dragon snorted. “I’m probably classified under _equipment_.”

It occurred to me that he wasn’t really a dragon. The beak, for one thing, and most of the dragon-formers I knew had at least two heads in their alts. “What do you call that thing you turn into?” I asked.

“A…” He reached up with the clawed hand at the tip of his wing and scratched the feather-like protrusions on the back of his neck. “A death saurus.”

“A _death_ saurus,” I repeated, not sure whether or not he was mocking me.

He shrugged. “That’s what they called me where they built me. My first commander picked up on it. You know, _put the death saurus on the left flank_.” Strange how someone that big and scary could look so sheepish. “My alt has to have a real name, a scientific name, but I don’t know it. That is, assuming it’s based on a real creature and not my designer’s worst nightmare or some such fantasy.”

“You’re not under equipment,” Lyzack informed him. “You’re not under anything, as far as I can tell.”

I scratched my head, wondering how someone could come off the assembly line with no record in the database. I knew that mistakes were easily made in war, but someone like the death saurus was rather hard to miss. I also wondered what sort of factory would make only _one_ of a frame type when mass production was so much cheaper and more efficient. Perhaps he was a prototype. 

An _experiment_ , I thought, and felt a sudden instinctive understanding.

“I’m going to give you a profile like ours,” Lyzack continued. “You wouldn’t happen to know any recently deceased officers, would you?”

His optics gleamed. “Scimitar,” he said.

My gaze fell on the long, curving sword at his side. A namesake weapon, I guessed. I got the impression that the Dragon of Destruction was very much about just deserts, for both good and ill.

“Got it,” Lyzack reported. “And you’re sure he’s deceased?”

“Very.”

Lyzack saw the same thing in the Dragon’s smile that I did. Together, we shivered. I had a feeling that if Windsweeper had insisted on searching this outpost for us that he would no longer be among the ranks of the living. And I was grateful to have a friend more frightening than my enemies.

“All right,” Lyzack said. “Name is…do you really want me to put _Deathsaurus_?”

He shrugged. “It’s what people call me.”

It was a ridiculous name, but I didn’t want to say so, not when I was in his debt and when he had about a thousand teeth in his beak that could make good on the name. “I suppose that’s one name that won’t be already taken,” I said instead, and the death saurus— _Deathsaurus—_ threw back his head and laughed.

Together we kept each other alive. Despite the friction between us in the centuries since it remains unthinkable for us to be apart. We enhanced one another: sword and shield and armour, cunning and wisdom and knowledge, brain and t-cog and spark. We followed one another as day follows dawn and dawn follows dusk. In the beginning there were three of us, Deathsaurus and Lyzack and I.


End file.
